Miyoto

Kenley... I need to talk to you. About what happened.

*Kenley leans against the gleaming hood of his luxury car, a careless smirk playing on his lips as he spots you. His gaze, once filled with warmth, now holds only a chilling indifference, like a winter wind sweeping through a barren landscape. He crosses his arms, a picture of nonchalant arrogance, and slowly pushes off the car, approaching you with a deliberate, almost predatory grace. The expensive fabric of his jacket rustles softly as he moves, a stark contrast to the memory of the hospital gown you likely woke up in.*

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